Tarot Cards Proven to be a Link

“Emily.”

“Yes, I’m here,” Emily Lucent responded in a whisper, yearning to hear her name again. The gentle, lovelorn utterance, tempting and mesmerizing, created a stronger need to see the speaker. His Scottish accent made his bereavement, if she could call it that, all the more intense. She wanted to help him find the love he had apparently lost. She longed to see him.

For the past few months the voice had grown stronger and more frequent as the days passed. He called her name in the pre‐dawn and lately during the course of the day. Her heart would race with anticipation. When would she hear the sweet harmonious sound again? Alone in the house, without the background noise of a television or music, sometimes she would hope to hear it, try to hear it.

Hear him.
Hear her name.
Emily.
She questioned her sanity. Yet, the deep, clear masculine voice sweetly lulled and soothed her. Restlessness and greed took over. Despite the fear of lunacy, she wanted more, needed more. She wished to see the unearthly being who spoke to her.

 

The Watcher

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Mikhail gathered tarot cards and shuffled the deck. “You need to shuffle this once and fan out the cards. Pick any three cards from the deck and place them face up on the table. The second card should be placed to the left of the first card. The third card placed on the right of the first card. You must concentrate on one aspect of a decision to be made or question while drawing the card.”

A force pulled her further into this web of mystery and mysticism. She must discover, divine or infer the source of the voice. Good or bad.

Earthly or unearthly.
Angelic or demonic.
Ghost or hallucination.
She shuffled, drew out three cards, and placed them face up on the table. Mikhail watched closely. They carefully viewed the cards on the table top. She threw her head back and stared at the door. Emily glanced behind her, thinking Melody had come into the room. Empty space. A shiver of unease rippled over her skin. She returned her attention back to Mikhail. The fortune teller removed the turban and combed her fingers through her hair.

“Emily, I must ask you if you’re a religious person.”

“I don’t know what that has to do with the forecast of my future, but I was raised as a Catholic. For the past two years I haven’t attended mass. Although, I believe I’m a spiritual person.” She lifted her glance from the elaborate, elegantly detailed, tarot cards to connect with Mikhail’s gaze.

“The voice is not a hallucination and does not belong to a…ghost.” Mikhail bit her lower lip. The white of her teeth gleamed against the red lipstick.

 

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Happy Holidays!

 

 

 

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Hoppy Hop Brew

 

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In Mystic Love Joe, the hero, needed information about a healer…and not one person in Cyan, Indiana acknowledged the shaman existed.

Joe went to a local pub, Brewhouse, in order to get close to the community members. Brewhouse made their own beer from organic local hops. My father enjoys creating his own wines and beers, so I had a little knowledge about the process of making a brew.

I won’t bore you with the details of how to harvest, dry, and add to the beer/ale to provide balance, the sweetness of the malt sugars and bitterness. Trust me, my dad had a few misses before he got the finish perfected. The Brewhouse beer was distinct and the brewers had perfected the FWH (First Wort Hopping).

Joe had to consume a lot of beer in order to get information. He enjoyed sharing…and got the details he needed…at least he thought he had.

Joe staggered into Ames Mansion, a little past midnight, stomach–sloshing full of Brewhouse’s homemade beer. Blurry–eyed, he peered into the library. Ericka sat hunched over her stacks of literature investigating her client or magic. The perfect man didn’t exist, so why try to find one?

“Honey, I’m home.” He didn’t reign in the illogical jealousy, but bee–lined to the side of the desk and propped his hind quarters on the edge. “Did you miss me?”

“You’re an insufferable drunken ass. Get off my desk.” Her dagger–pointed red fingernails shoved his leg. If he could feel pain, it probably would have hurt.

He stroked the inside of her wrist resting on the desktop. “Not until you answer my question. I’m curious.” He tapped her arm.

Her focus left her lawyer bible and met his stare. “You invited me to stay, but not in your room. I felt your hands caressing me as you hid my nakedness from your friend. I try to play nice, and you shove me away. You can’t tell me announcing only sex wasn’t a ploy to stop me, to tease me. What is it you really want from me, Ericka?”

“I want you to leave this office.” She jerked her hand from under his and stood.

Should he punish himself and enjoy the end of the evening? Already bedeviled, he’d at least feel alive. He slid from the desk, closed in on her, leaned into her curves. The light brown circles pulsed around the black centers of her eyes, heated lust sparked. Pheromones surrounded him, trailed into his nostrils tantalizing him, sending him further into an alternate reality. He became the beast he so desperately attempted to shed. “Before or after a kiss?”

A shadow of a smile appeared. “I’ll forgive this transgression, Joe, because you’ve been tapping the keg.” Her grumpy voice and quick full-fledged smile enticed his groin to life.

He quirked an eyebrow, at least he thought he lifted the right side of his face. “Drinking or an attempt at a kiss? I don’t have a drinking problem, actually take a sip at weddings and New Year’s. However, the hot waitress kept our glasses full. And thoughts of…”

“Leave.”

 

Bottle Cap 

Mystic Love

 

Available at The Wild Rose Press

 

(http://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/450_jj-keller)

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Dance until you hit the floor

My husband and I laugh when we see the united healthcare commercial, the one where the man and woman are dirty dancing…

You know the one when she jumps and lands on the dining room table instead of into her husband’s arms. They videoconference a doctor…

We recently had hardwood floors installed and what better way than to try it out for ourselves.

IN the movie DiRty DanCing they make the moves, dancing as a whole, look so easy. It’s NOT.

My guy has a twisted arm and my butt looks like a dalmatian coat.

But, oh what fun.

Laughter is good for the soul, right?

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